Requiem for a Sensai
by La Fata Morgana
Summary: Kabanas (Elektra) and Morg (Psylocke) team up once more. Marvel's two mysterious assassins share a common bond and meet to address it.


**Requiem for a Sensai******

by FataMorgana and Kabanas   
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**DISCLAIMER**: Elektra and Psylocke are Marvel's. We're just their incarnates.   
  
  


**PSYLOCKE** The moon was rising full over Hong Kong, the air pregnant with heat, laden with moisture, and brimming with the sighs of the city's sleepless population, all shifting restlessly against the oppressive heat. Psylocke's hair was heavy on her back as she crouched atop a building, scanning the immediate area. The city below flashed gaudily with streetlights, car horns, advertisements and painfully bright neon. Silence was a vain thought just then. She wondered if Elektra would even show. The heat was stifling to Psylocke, but less so than it might have been. She was in uniform tonight. 

**ELEKTRA **A woman stalked through the foul road of Hong Kong's organic market square, dressed in red. She had her hands in the pockets of her long, black coat, and her collars up, but she had very bright red boots that reached to her knees. Her belted jacket covered the red costume inside because she was dining in the city tonight. Just her and the unfamiliar smells of soup broiling in the outside kiosks. She got hungry when looking for work. 

**PSYLOCKE** would not have even spotted the dark-haired woman in the crowd below if it weren't for the red that caught her eye. Red was what she was looking for. She bore news of interest to the Greek woman. Hong Kong had been Psylocke's home in the past - or at least Kwannon's, she sometimes couldn't distinguish between her psyche and the other woman's. Lines blurred. In any case, the sounds and smells were comforting to her. Before her memories could drift her off into some hapless recollection, she shook her head and sighted Elektra once more, dropping off the side of the building to land soundlessly in the alleyway below, amidst restaurant refuse and boxes. From inside the darkness, she cast a thought out to the other Hand-trained woman. _Elektra...._

**ELEKTRA** It was strange, but Elektra knew where the voice was coming from. She looked in that direction until she made out a brand new face in the crowd, much taller than the locals. Elektra had been in this district for the past month. Unemployed. Acting uncouth in a few martial arts schools in the city. She had tried talking to all the important men here. They didn't seem interested. So Elektra found temporary happiness challenging the local kung fu masters to an inch near death. Because even if Elektra couldn't kill, she still had to feed. Presently, her desperation had gotten to the point where it taxed her reserves, though... Elektra was very tired. She acknowledged the Japanese foreigner with a look, no more. What was this about? 

**PSYLOCKE** was glad the other woman had chosen to acknowledge her, and nodded towards the alley she stood just inside of. It was a beckon to the Greek. They shared something in common. They were both Hand-trained, and it had come to her attention that they had something even further in common. Both had been mentored by the same person within the order. Psylocke even saw some of the same poise in Elektra that she herself carried. It was odd. 

**ELEKTRA** followed unquestioningly, no haste in her step. She knew this woman. Just a tiny bit. Nonetheless, this was their first encounter. But there was not an instance when the X-Men appeared in the news that Psylocke was not a part of the group picture. Her face had a sort of supermodel quality to it, even. Elektra's own--half-hidden by a curtain of untended black hair--was ordinary. She was only really beautiful when she didn't frown. All her life, an angry countenance... Her difficult past was evident in her eyes. Eyes of a seasoned killer, though that side was dormant at this moment. She gave Psylocke her full attention. 

**PSYLOCKE** halted even further in the shadow where only the full moon gave any light to the pair of ninjas. Light eyes that seemed out of alignment with her ethnicity rested on Elektra, seeing a hint of recognition in her expression. Telepathy was unneeded. "You know who I am, then," she said, the accent lilting her words even more disparate from her appearance. But then, she was two people merged into one, so it wasn't such a shock, really. 

**ELEKTRA** It took Elektra a moment to respond. She was too busy examining the woman in front of her. Something of a celebrity encounter. She'd really only heard of the X-Men. Had previously only -met- one of them... A very angry man, named Logan. Elektra nodded, almost in the manner of a small bow. "I know who you are..." Elektra wasn't bored by the meeting. Rather, she was intrigued, but hid her surprise well beneath a steady heartbeat. It was just that conversation was not her forte. Assassins are typically an anti-social species. She was no different... 

**PSYLOCKE**'s nod was after the same fashion. She understood fully well Elektra's penchant for silence. She practiced it herself from time to time. But then, being with the X-Men promoted more of a group atmosphere. She was rarely alone. The assassin in Psylocke had been sent into hiding by community life. Even life in the public eye. But it made her no less dangerous an enemy. But she was not there as an enemy, rather to bear unpleasant tidings. "We received the same training, you and I. That is why I've sought you out. The source of that training, the source of our knowledge...has passed." She seemed cryptic in the moonlight. 

**ELEKTRA** maintained her emotionless state, deducing the obvious from the Asian telepath's words. There was a light breeze that played with their figures. Such two polar women. Elektra, olive-skinned and rigidly introvert. Her visitor, pale-faced and poised. They were dangerous in their own ways, but perhaps only one was a true killer. Elektra took her discipline to the extreme. She did not know how far Psylocke took Stick's training…. Elektra tried that name out in her head. It tasted bitter to her mind. There was poison associated with that teacher, that man who had collapsed her sanity those many years ago, who taught her the art of the kill. There was no thanking him. Psylocke wouldn't be told of her past brutalities, either. Elektra was a woman who frequently walked away from the past. She never felt the urge to reveal old skeletons in the closet. Nonetheless, the crimson-clad warrior was curious about certain important details. "When?...How?" The gray light caught Elektra's raised face in a faintly pretty angle. Hers was a more mature, weathered beauty. 

**PSYLOCKE** studied Elektra, just as she was being studied, each woman noting differences and similarities. She almost wished, for her former mentor's sake, that she could tell Elektra something more epic than the truth she knew, perhaps to save her from feeling any more disappointed. "Several nights ago, I was woken from meditation by two things. The first - a vision. A…a spectre, I don't know. He died in his sleep of old age. The second," Psylocke paused, holding out a gleaming silver item in the palm of her black-gloved hand. The ninja star presented for Elektra's inspection was emblazoned with the mark of the Hand. "I traveled here to tell you this because he taught us both. But also to tell you that they have a new leader. One who, judging by this message, is not as benevolent as our master was," Even at his death, she still did not name Stick. 

**ELEKTRA** It was at that moment that Elektra's mind attempted to pull one, single happy memory from her days of training. She looked towards the street, where dark languid bodies passed through mysterious clouds of mist rising from the sewers. Though she kept silent, trying hard for a while, she could not recall very many happy memories. There were a scant few burry images of Stick's smile that surfaced. Only, Elektra associated that smile with 'reward'--reward for taking the life of another ninja in battle... The Greek ronin returned her gaze front and center. Had their teacher been more…benevolent towards Psylocke? It seemed this way. For that, Elektra struggled to make her compassion more visible. For a woman who behaved as though death visited her every night, however, it wasn't very easy… Besides, the ronin was far more interested in what the woman had to say of the Hand's newly ceded throne. "I left that life a long time ago…" Elektra began, attempting at conversation now that Psylocke had revealed herself to be non-threatening. "I regret, as much as I am grateful, that I was trained by him. Those years brought me much pain though they helped open my eyes to how the world really works." The shuriken in Psylocke's hand was eyed. "You say that was delivered unannounced?" 

**PSYLOCKE** "Entirely," the Asian woman confirmed, her gaze fixed on the small weapon. "And a little too close to my head for comfort." She glanced upwards to Elektra's face, the lack of grief that Psylocke had felt at the psionic revelation telling her they had had very different experiences under Stick's training. But nonetheless... "We're both -former- members, Elektra. I hope you can understand the warning in this. If the Hand has pursued you before, it was likely in a…fairly tame manner when he was still alive. I do not believe we will be afforded that luxury upon his death." That was perhaps a more selfish reason for her grief of their master's passing. She had been pursued now and again in half-hearted attempts to bring her back into the fold. It didn't seem too much of a stretch to imagine that Elektra had been through the same. 

**ELEKTRA** was concerned with Psylocke's pampering tone. She was not the type to believe she ever needed a warning, or even assistance, from anyone. That arrogance was especially evident to one very important person in the ronin's life: a certain blind attorney in Manhattan... Elektra maintained an eerie calm. She moved nary a muscle, and save for the soft rise and fall of her breath, it was difficult to imagine that she was doing anything but intensely considering Psylocke's warning. Elektra heeded it, in fact. Just as she treated everyone from the Pope to Putin, though… Elektra kept her thoughts to herself. "Follow me," she replied simply, leaving the alley for the corner hotel across the street. It was in shambles, but it had been her home for a month. The old, bent over trespassers outside the door moved out of her way. 

**PSYLOCKE** nodded once and opened her stride to follow after Elektra. Having no jacket to cover the uniform that in America would be immediately associated with the X-Men, she garnered curious looks from the people walking the streets. None of this concerned her, really, when she saw the place Elektra was residing in. It reminded her of the places she had stayed in when she lived here. She, being Kwannon. Another confused memory. Some of the silence Elektra embraced so was suddenly apparent in Psylocke, her footfall barely a whisper behind the Greek woman, her breathing hardly a flutter in the hot, still air. 

**ELEKTRA** opened the door into a bare room, highlighted by the moon. There was an open suitcase on the bed and travel kits on the rickety dresser. The cheap wooden blinds let in some of that gray light. Elektra worked in the darkness to clear out the things on the dresser. She began pulling incense from the drawers, handing some to her guest. The woman would know what to do. Soon, a makeshift altar was made atop the counter. The solemn Greek assassin pulled out her favorite shade of lipstick and inscribed ancient kanji on the mirror. A prayer. There was a sullen hush, then a match was struck against the wall and the candles were lit. 

**PSYLOCKE** Whatever differences they might have had, however disparate their memories might have been, they put them aside and joined in a ritual of prayer. She vaguely noticed Elektra had shed her coat. They were symmetrical then, both dark heads lowered in reverence - one in red, one in black. Daughters of ancient teachings...warriors both. 

**ELEKTRA** bowed in tandem. Warriors both. Their foreheads touched the floor, just as they had been taught. Elektra was almost honored to have shared the ritual with a sister of her own discipline. As they bid farewell to their sensei, however, Elektra could not help but think of the inevitable. Their master's death has brought a new chapter to her life. What would the future bring for the ronin? More importantly, Elektra frowned deeply, how much was it going to hurt?   



End file.
